The Silence
by MrsJoyceChilvers
Summary: Set several days after the supper at the Dower House for the newly returned Princess Irina Kuragin. Violet Crawley has always had a complicated relationship with silence. Now as she bids Prince Igor Kuragin goodbye, silence plays its part. [Rated M for all those things that "rated M" usually means - I know, I'm gobsmacked I went there too!] Not related to "How It Must Be"


Silence; Violet Crawley had always had a complicated relationship with silence. As a young woman, she'd loathed it - desperately seeking the company of others, of having people to talk to. As a new bride, she'd craved and despaired of silence in equal measure - seeking escape from her new family, from the domineering presence of her mother-in-law in particular. And yet when she found her silent respite, it had invariably always betrayed her - reminding her of her situation and freely aiding the painful reality of the loneliness that often threatened to consume her. As she became older, silence had grown to be both a friend and foe to her - a rare liberator from the constraints and requirements of a society that required her to the most graceful and witty of hostesses, and yet also a secret tormentor of things unsaid and buried memories.

Sitting opposite Igor Kuragin, in his dingy room in York, she thinks silence might be a foe. She doesn't know what to say to him - in truth she wants to say so much but for the sake of her own survival, she can't. She'd been hugely grateful for Isobel's presence four days earlier, when she'd bade him and the Princess goodbye. The politeness of the situation had hurt - it had pained her beyond measure to say goodbye to him without so much as a fleeting touch between them, but she'd come to see the almost cold goodbye as a blessing. She'd been a coward to ask Isobel to be there, but she'd feared for her own resolve without the presence of someone else. She'd asked Isobel and Dickie Merton along the night before to ensure Irina's good behavior - she'd dragged Isobel along the next morning to ensure her own. She'd watched them leave, watched _him _leave, and although she'd felt her heart break anew as the car had disappeared around the gate, she'd come to think of herself as fortunate. She could live with a broken heart - she had done so before.

She'd nearly not come to his room in York, indeed she'd made her mind up not to when his letter first arrived - but in the silence of the Dower House, his written words had refused to leave her alone. She'd resented the letter at first, or rather him for sending it, and had crumpled it up. She'd said her goodbye, why couldn't he just accept it? But try as she might, she found herself drawn towards the small bin by her writing bureau, and had eventually retrieved the paper with his elegant script. She reread the his words over and over "Come to me, please" - one second angry with him, the next feeling like her heart might burst at how wonderfully relentless he was. And so she had flitted between the two emotions, anger and something akin to hope - cursing him for complicating their lives, and yet silently thanking him for not accepting the cold goodbye that they'd both endured days earlier.

Now as she sat in his room, she was no longer sure what she felt. Awkward and nervous mainly. She hated this room, despised it almost as much as she despised Irina. The room stood as a horrific testament to how far Igor had fallen. In his suit, she could still believe he was her Prince, but this room represented harsh reality - a searing reminder to her of his destitution. Its grim walls and torn paper, mocking. Much like Igor's life, they too had clearly once been beautiful but now hung soiled and barely existing. She wanted to leave, to get up, run if she could, and never see the room again - to wash every inch of her that had been in contact with it.

She sat ramrod straight in the chair, unable to relax, and silently wondering why she'd come. This was a mistake she told herself - a monumental mistake. Better to have left things as they were than endure whatever purgatory this was. He was staring at her - his expression unreadable. Earlier, when she had arrived, he'd explained once more about Irina, despite having included it in the letter he'd sent. Evidently Irina had hated the room too, enough that she'd refused to endure it all. Her displeasure so vocal that eventually Count Rostov had offered her his earlier ticket to Paris. She'd gone that morning - Igor and a few others, now including Rostov, would leave per the original schedule. But since that explanation, he'd said nothing - both simply sitting opposite each other in his vile room, and in silence.

His gaze was unsettling, and she found her eyes darting around her surroundings, anything to avoid eye contact with him. His suitcase, such as it was, now sat in the corner, half packed. His few books, neatly stacked on the bedside.. she hesitated to think of it as a table. His coat hung on the door, and for the first time she noticed the holes in the back of it. She tried to be guarded and not show how much this all pained her, repulsed her almost, but clearly the sight of his worn coat had caused her expression to change, because seconds later he spoke - his voice soft as he apologized for the state of the room, for the state of him.

"I didn't want it to be like this, for you to come to this place again, but this is all I can..."

The word "afford" hung in the air between them, and she swallowed. She knew what he had meant when he'd asked her to come to him in his letter, although she half clung to the idea that it was just a turn of expression - the state of the room made her cling to that hope even more. She felt his hand gently touch hers and unable to help it, she flinched - every muscle in her body tensing even more than before.

"I'm sorry", she whispered - easing her hand away from his and reaching for her cane. She couldn't do this - she knew what he wanted, he'd asked her before - but she'd been a fool for coming, a fool for thinking she could do this, and an even crueler fool for letting him think she could.

"I have to go, Igor. I'm sorry."

Pressing down on her cane, she got up as quickly as she could, her head down - she didn't want to look at him, to see his expression. But then she felt his hand reach for her free one. He rose now, and closed the gap between them, his physical closeness making her feel light headed.

"Please, Igor, don't", she quietly implored, knowing what was to come - that he plead with her, maybe even kiss her, and beg her to stay. But instead, she found herself wrapped a hug - his arms around her, gently holding her. And then she heard in a barely audible whisper;

"I will always love you... Thank you for coming, Violet."

The sincerity of his goodbye hit her like a canon ball at short range, and the fifty year old dam she'd erected burst, as suddenly she felt tears well in her eyes. She found herself clinging to him seconds later, as sob after sob spasmed through her. The reality of everything suddenly pummeling her; she loved him, loved him more than she'd ever actually admitted to herself until this moment. She'd lost him once - been wrenched away from him by Irina and reality, and now she was losing him all over again. He held her as she cried, gently rubbing her back with one hand, his still strong arms anchoring and supporting her, keeping her safe as he'd once promised he always would, until eventually she stilled - having cried herself out. Yet neither moved - she didn't want to let go of him, couldn't bring herself to.

Silence was neither friend nor foe this time, but instead simply enveloped them - seemingly bringing time to a standstill. Slowly she lifted her head and for the first time since arriving, she looked at him properly - her eyes meeting his. She felt him caress her cheek - gently wiping away her tears - and then with an infinite tenderness, he brought his lips to hers. The kiss was sweet - delicate even - as his lips lovingly brushed against hers and she responded in kind. The kiss ended as gently as it had begun, but neither moved away from the other. The silence of the room was suddenly charged - Violet's heart beat now loud in her ears - her chest feeling uncomfortably constrained in her coat and dress. She drank in the sight of him - committing his face to memory as she absently ran her fingers along his forehead and through his hair. Regardless of his circumstances, he was still her Prince, and gently she brought her lips to his again, only for him to meet her half way.

This was a lovers' kiss - one which gradually swelled with passion and longing, and as Violet parted her lips for him, she slipped her arms around his neck - gently drawing him closer to her. The awkwardness and nervousness she'd felt earlier was gone - and instead she was filled with a yearning - a need. It had been years, decades even, since she'd kissed anyone like this. Breaking for air, she stepped back from him - and for one second she could see sadness in his eyes again, only for a soft smile to appear in its place as she removed the pin holding her hat and eased it off.

"Are you sure?", he murmured. His eyes full of wonder.

In reply she softly smiled and nodded. She hadn't been this sure about anything in a long time.

He quickly closed the gap between them again - their kiss eager and bristling with mutual need - his arms around her, pulling her body against his - her hands caressing through his hair. When they broke apart this time, their caresses continued, until softly smiling at him, she reached for his hands and gently brought them to the opening of her coat. One by one, he slowly undid each button - and she couldn't help but be touched by the tremble she saw in his fingers. In many ways it comforted her to know that Igor, her Prince, and the man who had opened her eyes to so much, was nervous. He eased her coat off, and moved to gently lay it over the chair she'd sat on earlier. When he turned back to her, she had taken down her hair and for the first time since asking if she was sure, he spoke.

"You're so beautiful", he said with unguarded wonder.

As he approached her once more, she turned and silently guided him to the buttons on the back of her dress - her hair now cascading down over one shoulder. With each button he gently undid, she felt goosebumps wash over her skin - and when she felt him place a kiss against the nape of her neck, she couldn't help but close her eyes and softly sigh in quietly aroused contentment.

They continued to silently undress each other - taking their time, savouring the moment as each barrier of clothing between them was eased away, until eventually they stood together, naked. For one moment, as Igor had eased her underthings off, she'd felt a pang of insecurity. The last time he'd seen her like this, she'd been young - fifty years can change a body - and she half feared he might not welcome what she looked like now. Instead though, he openly gazed at her - the only look on his face one of awe. He ran his hands lightly over her body - trailing his fingers along her arms - touching her with a delicacy that felt stunningly erotic. When he gently cupped one of her breasts, running his thumb over her nipple, she couldn't help but close her eyes again and softly sigh. She had no idea she could feel like this, that she was still capable of it. Every part of her felt warm - feverish, but anything but ill - instead she felt alive, truly alive.

As they kissed again, their bodies now intimately pressed together, she wondered if she'd ever felt anything this sensual before. It was intoxicating to feel his naked body against her own - to feel his arousal pressed so intimately against her - his hands slowly caressing down the length of her spine and then lower. Finally, unable to hold back anymore, she spoke for the first time since saying she had to leave.

"Igor", she whimpered. Her voice so full of need that she might have been shocked at how wanton she sounded, save for the fact that she simply no longer cared. She wanted him - wanted to be with him, to be his lover, to feel him inside her.

Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. When she'd first visited him in York, months ago, she'd thought the bed borderline disgusting and half wondered how it was still standing. Now as he gently lay her down on it, she thought she'd never felt anything more wonderful beneath her. Yes, it was small, rickety, and dilapidated, but all that ceased to matter as he kissed along her neck, down her chest, and over her breasts, finally covering one of her nipples with his mouth. She gasped as wave upon wave of arousal washed over her - her body seeming to respond to him like she was an instrument and he was the most talented and loving musician she'd ever known. He knew every inch of her, how to touch her, how to make her tremble and sigh, how to make her moan with need. Slowly he worshiped her - his kisses and touches passionate and yet reverent. She knew he was memorizing her, much like she was memorizing him. They'd never be together like this again. She'd long ago come to accept that they never would have survived had they eloped - they loved each other, still did - but love was no remedy for the harshness of the real world. This was their second chance and their goodbye at the same time - to be in love, and for one brief moment in time, to be together.

She ran her hands through his hair again, reveling in the feel of it. It was longer, and of course greyer now than when she'd last touched him like this in bed, and as he lifted his head and looked at her, the words slipped from her lips.

"I love you."

He'd never had any problem saying it to her, but she'd always struggled, despite what she felt. She'd never been comfortable talking about her feelings - she could talk about almost any subject, but speaking about her heart had always been something she avoided. Now in this moment though, the words fell easily from her lips - and seeing his reaction, she felt an overwhelming wave of happiness that they had. His face lit up in a way she'd never seen before. Since his return to her life that day at Downton, she'd been pained at how sad he'd always seemed - how his strong features were now lined, not just with age, but with a darkness that could only come from having experienced some true horrors. But at her words, something in him changed. He seemed overcome - his eyes brimming with tears - and she couldn't recall him ever smiling with such genuine joy before, even when they'd first been lovers.

His kiss was passionate - full of a hunger and want that left her breathless. This time as he kissed down her body, she felt reverence give way to pure desire, and suddenly she became very aware of the warmth and wetness between her legs. Like so much else about this afternoon, she couldn't recall when she'd last felt like this.

Igor had been a sexual awakening for her - so much so, that even though she'd come home to England with a broken heart, she knew enough about herself to know that she would not go without sexual satisfaction in her life again. She had discreetly taken lovers over the years - most casual dalliances with men equally required to exercise discretion, and none remotely close to the emotional depth of her affair with Igor. She'd felt powerful and strong in those relationships - she'd set the terms, and each lover had complied with them. Some had declared themselves to be in love with her - Hepworth had sought to marry her - but she always dismissed them. She used them for her own needs, and ended things when she no longer wanted them. It had been years though since she'd last been with a man - her last affair had been in her fiftieth year - and she'd felt something of a degree of pride that her lover then had been fourteen years her junior. From then though she'd been faithful to her husband. It hadn't been a passionate marriage, but in his last years, they'd found a contentment and quiet love together she never imagined they could have had when they'd first been married. She'd genuinely mourned him when he died. Still, it had now been nearly three decades since she'd felt anything akin to the warmth and wetness of arousal.

She felt her body tremble as Igor again kissed and teased one of her nipples, and then a soft gasp escaped from her lips as he gently slipped his hand under her knee and he slowly parted her legs, mindful not to cause her pain. She suddenly felt heady - and too warm. Every part of her now seemed to quiver as he kissed down her body. She whimpered as he kissed her inner thigh, and absently she threw one arm over her eyes as she bunched up the sheet below her with her other hand, gripping and pulling at it tightly. She had no control of her body now - she couldn't stop shaking - and then she felt him place the softest of kisses on her sex. She'd wanted to remember everything about this afternoon, but as he tenderly and passionately kissed and licked her in the most intimate of ways, she could no longer think - all she could do was feel.

He took his time - he always had - something she was grateful for, but more so now. It had been a long time for them both, and although they both ached and yearned for each other with the passion of their younger selves, the reality was that they were old now. Things simply took longer with age. He hadn't minded though, in fact he seemed to savour it, to bask in being with her for even longer. She knew he wanted to give her her release like this - his mouth on her - but she wanted him too much now, and blindly she reached out for him - whispering his name. Again he asked if she was sure - and as she whimpered "yes", she ran her hands down his back, guiding him to her.

He made love to her with the most glorious blend of passion and tenderness. His eyes never breaking contact with hers. For one moment she'd felt a twinge of anxiety as he moved to enter her - it had been so long - but the second passed and from then on she'd felt nothing but the most wonderful sense of completion. She'd never felt this with anyone else - indeed she'd given up on feeling it ever again. He was her Igor, and she was his Violet. They could never be together, but they belonged.

She came whimpering his name - her arms around him, clinging to him. He came moments later - her name like a breath on his lips.

Later, as she lay in his arms in silence - snuggled tightly against him on that small, dilapidated bed, she wondered how she could have ever thought to have left before. How she could have ever been so awkward and torn over being with him like this. She hated the idea of him leaving, but somehow her soul felt less pained now than it had as she'd watched him leave four days earlier from her house. She'd needed this, needed this goodbye. She doubted they'd ever see each other again after this - and somehow, as heartbreaking as it was, she knew they'd both be fine. They'd made their peace together - they'd finally found the ending to their love affair that Irina had snatched away from them - and she knew in her heart that Igor felt the same. They could have no future together so long as he was married to Irina (and she would never grant him a divorce) - but they would always have this.

Violet Crawley had always had a complicated relationship with silence. It had been her friend and her foe - but as she lay in the arms of the man she loved for the last time - old now, and lifetime behind her - she knew there would be a no more beautiful silence than this one. The silence of two people who'd finally said everything, and had found their moment of happiness.


End file.
